


Right Hook, Uppercut

by orien



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Boxing, Humor, I'll add more tags later, M/M, eren's practicing for a boxing tournament, ereri, it's all a bit sweaty, levi's training him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 14:05:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4669379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orien/pseuds/orien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He keeps grabbing me and moving my body into the correct positions, like an artist arranging their muse, and on more than one occasion I feel like a mannequin in a store window. I soon find though, that these moments I don’t mind – because being his puppet, having his undivided attention, actually felt good. I don’t know – maybe it was because I knew just how skilled he was, I’d seen it with my own eyes, and he was channeling that unmatched talent in to me. I was the student and he was the teacher, I the novice and he the master. Hell, it might even have been a turn on if I wasn’t concentrating so hard on getting it right."</p><p>!!!DISCONTINUED!!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i just want to point out that all my boxing knowledge comes from research for this fic, so i'm apologising now for inaccuracies in case any of you are boxing pros.

_**Here we go again** _  
_**we’re sick like animals** _  
_**we play pretend** _  
_**you’re just a cannibal** _  
_**and I’m afraid I won’t get out alive** _  
_**no, I won’t sleep tonight** _

_____________________

__  
**_Training session ten, July 9th_ **

I’m on all fours, and I can’t see anything past the sweat in my eyes. My head hangs in defeat and I can hardly breathe. Shit.

“Can we just stop, for two seconds?”

“I’m not training a pussy.”

I look up, my damp hair hanging over my face unflatteringly. I can’t even feel my body at this point. Levi – my trainer – is at the side of the ring, and he’s removed one glove so he can scroll through his phone, not a hair out of place – he isn’t even looking at me.

“You’ll never win the tournament like that,” he tells me, not looking up. 

I spit blood and swipe my mouth with my wrist.

“There’s a bucket there, use it, you animal.” 

I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on not dying. 

My ears are ringing. I can hear _Worth It_ playing above the buzz. Levi’s playlist. I’m trying to get up but my legs protest and there’s a gash on my right eyebrow that hasn’t stopped bleeding for ten minutes. Eventually, I haul myself to my feet using the edge of the ring for support. Levi’s in front of me before I can register that he’d moved. He’s so fucking quiet, you’d never see him coming. And he’s quick, too, so quick that I don’t realise he’s swung for me until I’ve got a face full of rubber and then everything goes black.

***

Our town operates this (kind of illegal) boxing tournament every year, in an empty warehouse set up with a ring and a first aid kit. It’s a small-scale thing, but it’s a big deal to the people who compete every time, and it takes in a fair buck. Last year I came second – complete KO a minute thirty two seconds into the tenth round with Jean Kirstein. I left with two broken ribs and my nose was fucked. To be fair to myself, I fractured his cheekbone, knocked out a tooth, and the fight ended with a handshake and a trip to A&E. This year, though, there are more competitors, and the prize money’s gone up. It’s all hush hush, of course – though word on the street is that a dodgy police officer’s just brought in on it all, since it’s raking in a bit.

There’s a few of the local guys competing this year, including Jean. I can’t stand to see his smug horse face win again, so I’m training quite a bit down the warehouse. They convert it into a gym (sort of, there’s a ring and punching bags) when it’s not being used for the tournament. It was on a Tuesday that I ran into Jean – he’s sweaty and red and I can tell he’s happy to see me. 

“Eren!” he calls as I’m walking in, and he throws a towel over his shoulder before jogging over to me.

I flash a smile, pulling my gloves on. 

“Hoping to beat me this year?” he asks, and he gives me this shit eating grin and I can feel my ribs cracking all over again. (Which had really hurt, when it happened, but I hadn’t paid much attention to it at the time.) When we fought last year, the last thing I remember seeing before he knocked me out was that stupid grin, because anyone with a pair of eyes could tell I was finished as soon as his fist met my face. After that, I woke up in the locker room with Armin staring down at me, and the first thing he said was, _“a minute thirty two seconds into the tenth. You were gone.”_

Jean’s hair is all stuck to his forehead and he wipes at it with his forearm before landing a heavy palm on my shoulder. He’s not big – 160 pounds of well-toned muscle, but I’m 100% sure his massive head makes up for at least 80% of that, and he’s a southpaw, too, just to be awkward. 

“I will beat you this year,” I promise, delivering a few punches to the bag in front of me. 

Jean laughs. “Yeah, well, you’ve got Marco to beat this year, too – and Connie, and Reiner. Actually, it’s Reiner I’d worry about.”

“Marco’s competing?” I ask on the offhand; I’m not really listening. But Marco and Jean have been dating for a while now and last year when Jean knocked me for six, Marco had said he thought the whole thing was brutal and unnecessary. 

“Yeah, a few of the guys are, it got a big audience last year. Plus, you know, money. I reckon he just wants to see if he can beat me.” He laughs, and I chuckle too, actually. I’d quite like to see Marco knock seven shades of shit out of his boyfriend. 

I’m punching the bag but I come to a slow stop as I realise the noise in the warehouse has died down and Jean’s suddenly looking towards the entrance. Something’s got everyone’s focus. Eventually the general commotion of the gym fades – and I swipe my forehead, taking a breather from the bag as I try to have a look.

“What’s everyone staring at?” I ask, craning my neck to see past Jean’s shoulder. He’s got a good inch on me, I’d say, the lanky shit. Not taking his eyes off the front, he taps my arm with the back of his hand.

“Eren, Eren – look who it is.” 

There’s a man stood by the entrance. I can’t see his face right now because he’s looking outside, holding the door open for somebody else. He’s tall, though, and blonde. There’s a shorter man stepping inside now, and they’re both wearing suits. It takes a second before I clock on, but now I can see the sharp angles of the tall man’s face, his strong jawline and thick eyebrows, and the shorter one’s black hair and undercut. 

“What are they doing here?” I ask.

Erwin Smith and Levi Ackerman. Levi was the undefeated champion for six years running until he dropped out, and Erwin was his trainer. (And they definitely sucked each other’s dicks but whatever.) They stride in, Levi in front and Erwin behind, and neither of them spare a glance to any of us. Erwin’s eyes are cast down as he taps something out on his phone but soon they are walking past Jean and I and disappearing into the office at the back. It’s all very serious, they both look like they’re attending a funeral but then anyone who knew of them would tell you the same; they were incredibly private and fucking miserable.  


No one could deny it, though – they were amazing at what they did. Levi was an assassin in the ring, no one ever lasted more than a minute and a half with him. I remember watching one fight three years ago before I was old enough to compete, and it was Levi versus some guy who had at least 50 pounds on him. It was about twenty seconds into the first round that he realised he couldn’t win, and he tried a kidney punch. Which is completely illegal in legitimate boxing anyway, but a still a huge mistake on his part because Levi knocked him clean out with a blow to the jaw about four seconds after. 

As the office door shuts behind them, Jean heaves a sigh, and he has an almost mournful look on his face. “We can’t all be as good as that, eh?” And with that he heads back to his punching bag. 

I stare at the office door for a solid five seconds before I start jabbing the bag again.

***

The following Tuesday, I’m in the warehouse again. I do little else now, because the fight's in a month and like fuck am I losing two years in a row. Except this time I stay late, and I’m taking a break on the bench with a towel around my neck and a bottle of water by the time the moon is casting little pools of light across the floor.

I check my phone. Four texts.

_**June 23rd // 8:04pm from: jean** _  
_**Did you hear that levi’s coming to the fight** _  
_**June 23rd // 8:09pm from: jean** _  
_**Because he is** _  
_**June 23rd // 8:10pm from: jean** _  
_**Gonna be sooo embarrassing when I kick your ass again haha** _  
_**June 23rd // 8:16pm from: armin** _  
_**eren your mum said you’d better come home or else she’s feeding your dinner to the dog again and we both know he had the shits last time** _

___My attention is diverted at the sound of floorboards creaking, and my head snaps up. It’s dark in here, apart from the patches of light offered by the moon, and I squint. There isn’t supposed to be anyone here, unless I’m about to be murdered._ _ _

___“Hello?”_ _ _

___“Your right hook is disgusting.” The response is almost instantaneous and I jump out of my skin, whacking my head on the wall behind me. Stood in the doorway of the office in the corner stands a man, leaning against the frame with his hands in his pockets._ _ _

___My hand comes up to rub my head and I’m feeling incredibly sorry for myself._ _ _

___“What?” I say, sliding my phone back into my bag. There are footsteps and then he’s standing underneath a window, his face ghostly in the pale light. “Oh – Mr. Ackerman, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you were here.”_ _ _

___“You’re not bending your elbow enough. It’s a mess. Not a surprise Kirstein beat your ass last year.”_ _ _

___I stutter, standing up and palming the back of my neck awkwardly. He wasn’t exactly renowned for his manners but I’d never been on the receiving end of someone so honest before, and frankly, it’s appreciated. “Oh, well. Maybe you could show me?”_ _ _

___Levi scoffs. “Why would I do that?”_ _ _

___“I – have you been watching me?” It was a stupid thing to ask, god I’m stupid, but I couldn’t help but feel self-conscious at the thought of his eyes on me._ _ _

___Ackerman blinks. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was watching the videos from last year’s fights. It’s embarrassing, frankly. You're awful.”_ _ _

___“But you’re not. You’re as good as it gets. So show me.”_ _ _

___There is a long moment in which Levi says nothing, simply stares at me, and I wonder if I should apologise and just go home because it really is late and my dog is probably shitting everywhere – but Levi is sliding out of his suit jacket and then he hangs it on the door of the office, before unbuttoning the end of his sleeves and rolling them to his elbows. He sighs theatrically as though there’s a million and one things he’d rather be doing (and there probably is, like Erwin). His shoes click against the wooden floor and he moves towards a bag, placing both palms either side of it._ _ _

___“Do you want my gloves?” I offer, because Levi doesn’t look like he hits bare-knuckled._ _ _

___“Your hands have been sweating in them, don’t be disgusting.”_ _ _

___Levi delivers a quick right hook, and the bag echoes a hard _thump_ around the room. I wait for him to move before I take my turn, delivering it as I usually would, and I feel tiny under his scrutiny. It’s ridiculous because even though I am the one appropriately dressed for a workout with my shorts and gym top, he’s making me feel oddly out of place with his trousers and perfect hair. _ _ _

___I’m awaiting a string of insults so I swallow hard._ _ _

___“Did you not pay any attention to me at all?” he growls, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as he grabs my arm, pressing one hand into the bend and pushing it in. “ _Bend_ your elbow, you moron. You don’t bend it enough. That’s why there’s hardly any impact.” _ _ _

___My eyebrows knit together and I glance at where he is touching me, his long fingers wrapped around my forearm like a parent guiding a child._ _ _

___When he lets go, I take another turn and this time time, I’m sure I’ve got it right. I look to Levi with a smile, whose face is as expressionless as always._ _ _

___“Not as bad as before, but not great,” he says, and I’m about to speak except he’s turning on his heel. I watch as he retrieves his jacket from the door and makes to leave, and there I am left awestruck, probably with a gormless look on my face._ _ _

___“No – no, wait,” I say, jogging up to meet him. The next thing I say is a bit of a long shot but I say it anyway, because if he agreed I'd have a major advantage over Jean. “Train me.”_ _ _

___Sliding his arms back into his jacket, Levi cocks an eyebrow at me. “I don’t have the patience to train someone like you.”_ _ _

___“Please? Teach me everything you know.”_ _ _

___Levi’s attention is caught by his phone vibrating in his pocket. He takes it out and glances at it briefly before sliding it away again, and I can't help but feel with a person like Levi that he's always got something in the pipeline - people to see, things to do. Or, you know, the other way around._ _ _

___When he looks at me it's as though he's genuinely considering it, and with the way the light bathes his face in a sickly glow right now he looks almost predatory. “Be here tomorrow at six. You get one chance. Don’t fuck it up.”_ _ _


	2. Chapter 2

  
  
  
  


_Round seven._

_Fuck it feels like I’ve been going for hours. There’s pain everywhere – if I focus on one part then it kind of eliminates the rest but amplifies that one bit, like right now, in the neutral corner, I’m just thinking about how much my fucking head hurts. Armin’s in front of me, shouting something or other, I’m not quite sure. He sticks his hand in my mouth and pulls out the gum shield, and I spit into the bucket he’s holding._

_“…You can do it, Eren, I know you can…”_

_Look, I’m tired. I can’t concentrate on his motivation. I nod instinctively in response though, and then he’s pouring water over my head and thrusting the bottle in my face. I drink, hand it back, and he’s shoving the gum shield back into my mouth._

_“Finish him, Eren!”_

_I catch Jean’s gaze as we both leave our corners, and then we’ve both got our fists up against our faces. I deliver an uppercut and Jean’s head swings back, but in no time at all I can feel his glove smashing straight into my jaw and for a second I’m completely disorientated. Everything swims for a moment and I can’t hear anything above the ringing in my ears – the chanting audience sounds like it’s coming from above the water and I am drowning. The ref makes us stop and I have to do a standing eight count. I manage, and then we’re at each other again, and that’s when I feel it_ – crunch – _Jean’s just jabbed me right in the nose and it cracks, it fucking cracks. I am dazed and I collapse straight into the ropes._

_“Get up! Eren, get up now!” Armin shouts._

_I hear him above the static in my head, like I’m suddenly subconsciously homing in on the most important voice in the room when I need it the most. Armin’s got me through seven rounds. I don’t know how, but I do get up, and I last another two rounds with a busted nose._

_At some point I hit Jean so hard that even the guard couldn’t stop me knocking out a tooth. Lucky for him, I do it right before we’re about to go to neutral again and I watch as he spits the thing into the bucket._

_Round ten._

_I think Jean’s just cracked a couple of my fucking ribs and that’s it – I know I’m done for soon. I feel it like a blade in my side but I can’t focus on that right now and I deliver a sucker punch straight to his face and he stumbles back in surprise._

_My body is on fire._

_The next thing I know, Jean’s swung for me and I’m falling._

  
  
  


***

 

**_Training session one, June 24th_ **

When I get to the warehouse, Levi’s already there and my heart jumps. 

“I thought you said six? Shit – am I late?”

He’s in nothing but gym shorts and instead of wearing gloves he’s got bandages wrapped around his knuckles and he’s hitting the speed bag so quickly that I can’t really see it moving. For a small guy, Ackerman was fucking deadly. I’m watching him in awe, I suppose. Anatomically, he pretty much reaches physical perfection, from the curve of his spine to the angle of his jaw, the veins that pop in his arms when he clenches his fist, the expanse of the muscles in his back – 

“Relax. I was here early.” His voice is quiet and he shoots me a sideways glance through calculating eyes and I breathe a quiet sigh of relief as he stills the bag. I’m a little surprised at my train of thought, I guess, but he’s got the kind of face you want to paint. Aesthetically, he’s the epitome of male beauty, and when it comes to his field, he’s nothing short of a prodigy.

The first thing he asks me to do once we’re both in the ring is punch him his hard as I can. It’s utterly ridiculous but for a moment I’m actually _hesitant_ because I don’t want to hurt him. But then I realise that he’s probably just going to block and throw a counterpunch anyway, so without really thinking, I swing straight for his jaw. He dodges, just leans to the right out of the path of my fist and I pull back.

“You’re too slow. The opponent knows where you’re going straight away. When you’re throwing a cross you need to be fast – that’s the point of a power punch.”

Levi demonstrates – not on me, but he jabs the air – and I take in his stance, his posture, the way he moves and the agility, the way everything he does looks fucking effortless. 

We spend an hour and a half going over basic things, like jabs, hooks, crosses and counterpunches, and nearly everything I do falls short of expectations. I keep hearing _no, no, not like that – like this_. And _no, turn your body into it,_ and _faster,_ and _bend your goddamn elbow_. He keeps grabbing me and moving my body into the correct positions, like an artist arranging their muse, and on more than one occasion I feel like a mannequin in a store window. I soon find though, that these moments I don’t mind – because being his puppet, having his undivided attention, actually felt good. I don’t know – maybe it was because I knew just how skilled he was, I’d seen it with my own eyes, and he was channelling that unmatched talent in to me. I was the student and he was the teacher, I the novice and he the master. Hell, it might even have been a turn on if I wasn’t so concentrated on getting it right.

“You need to be ready, Eren – there were so many times in your fight with Jean that you had no idea what was coming. You need to anticipate. Especially with a southpaw. Annoying little fuckers but any good fighter can handle the unorthodox.” 

Levi’s standing in front of me, he’s got gloves on now and he’s about to test how well I defend myself. 

“Ready?” he asks, and I nod, my fists up. “Remember, parry, and don’t be a pussy. _Hit me_.”

He swings, and I dodge right out of the path of his fist. He swings again and I parry, fending off the punches with my gloves, before I deliver a cross into the side of his jaw. Levi blinks, and if I’m not mistaken he looks vaguely impressed. 

“Not bad,” he comments, but I’m too wrapped up in the way he looks like this – hair swept across his forehead, blood caught in-between his teeth, a slight red flush in his cheeks, and I’m too slow in realising his glove is hurtling in the direction of my face. Needless to say, I fall straight on my ass. He hits hard, really hard. I’m dizzy for a good few seconds and the next thing I know Levi’s knelt down in front of me with his hand underneath my chin, tilting my head up. I blink, and he’s looking at me.

“Pay attention to me, Eren. I don’t like repeating myself.”

He stands, and tells me to “get up, you moron,” and we’re going again. It’s the same each time, he hits, I parry. Or he parries and I hit because he wants me to learn how to break someone down, as he put it, and I think, unhelpfully, that it’s much easier to do that without using your fists. 

But that kind of thinking isn’t useful in the ring.

“In this sport, you break or you get broken. It’s not like football, or rugby, or volleyball – it’s one man against another in that ring, and you make a decision as soon as you look into his eyes about whether you’re going to walk away victorious or not. It’s all in your head, Eren, pain is just call and response. You block it out, you push it to the back of your head because if for one second you falter, your opponent will smell it on you, like a fly to shit, and he’ll break your fucking balls.”

Sometimes when he talks I concentrate more on the shapes his mouth makes than the words coming out of it.

  
  
  


***

 

Levi’s phone has vibrated four times in the last fifteen minutes. We’re just getting ready to leave and I pull my jacket on.

“Sorry if I was keeping you,” I say, swinging my bag over my shoulder. 

He offers what I think is a half-laugh. Amused, but probably more at my awkwardness. “What makes you think that?” he asks, and I can tell by the way his eyes have lit up that he already knows what I’m going to say, like he’s heard it a thousand times before.

“I don’t know. You and Erwin seem like busy people.” 

Levi locks the door behind us and I’m appreciative of the cold air on my face. 

This time he actually smiles and my cheeks are warm because it’s genuinely infectious. “You don’t even know me, Jaeger.”

He's right, I don't. But I'd like to.

With that he walks away and it’s not long before I’m texting Armin.

_**June 24th // 8:18 pm to: armin** _  
_**you still got beer in the fridge??** _

_**June 24th // 8:20pm from: armin** _  
_**yeah I’ll get some pizza** _

_**June 24th // 8:21 pm to armin:** _  
_**see you in 10** _

When I get to Armin’s he’s already cracked one open and I drop my bag on his floor and flop down onto his bed. 

“What’s up with you?” he asks and I bury my face into his pillow. 

“I’m tired.”

“Have you been boxing with someone? You look, um… well. It looks like someone’s had a go on you is all.” Armin always tries to be delicate. 

I shrug into the mattress, and I feel the bed rise as he gets up. I can hear him opening a bottle. 

I reach out to nothing and feel the drink being pressed into my hand. Armin rubs circles into my back. Last year he got pretty used to touching me, since he was always having to wipe blood off my face or bandage me up or ram his hand into my mouth to remove the gum shield. Poor guy’s probably been covered in my bodily fluids – you tend to sweat a lot when you’re beating the shit out of someone. He knows what I look like at my worst and to be honest there aren’t many boundaries anymore. “Levi Ackerman’s training me,” I say, and I roll over onto my back and Armin shifts so he’s sat cross legged, staring down at me with wide eyes.

“What? As in, _the_ Levi Ackerman?”

I frown and my thumb absentmindedly circles the top of the open bottle. “Yes, the only one there is.” 

It’s not until Armin drags a hand through my hair that I realise how exhausted I am, my face is sore – I’m pretty sure my left eye is swollen. I close my eyes and heave a sigh.

“I bet he’s got you jumping through hoops.”

I laugh. “Yeah, you could say that, like, he doesn’t fuck around. But I need him, so. Yeah.”

I shuffle up so I’m leant against the headboard, and bring the bottle to my lips. It’s chilled and exactly what I need and sometimes I thank God that Armin is my friend. He’s like a shove in the right direction, the motivation you didn’t know you needed, the friend that supplies beer and pizza.

“You’re right. That would give you a distinct advantage. If Levi taught you even half of what he knows, Jean wouldn’t stand a chance.” Armin twiddles a section of my hair around his finger. “And if Marco beats him, and you beat him, it’ll definitely take him down a few pegs.”

The tournament works like this: two competitors fight on the first night, and whoever wins moves on to the next fight. The winner of that moves onto the next, and so on and so on. Last year, I fought on the first fight, and won every evening until the final with Jean. I think that’s another reason I’m so desperate to win this time – I came so fucking close last year just for horse face to KO me into next week.

Armin tells me I smell and that I need a shower. I don’t protest – he’s probably right, so I drag my feet into the bathroom and by the time I get out the pizzas here. 

He orders meat feast because he knows it’s my favourite. 

Wow, that sounds gay as fuck.

By eleven we’re both quite giddy and the pizza box lies face down on the floor along with several empty beer bottles and we’re both sprawled across the bed, his feet by my head. I haven’t been able to shake the image of Levi’s bare torso from my mind all evening. 

“Does Jean know Levi’s training you?” Armin asks through a hiccup, and I giggle. 

“No.” The thought of Jean finding out and the look on his face is enough to make me consider texting him. “He’d start foaming at the mouth. Do you know what he said to me?”

“Who, Jean?”

“No, no – Levi. He just spouts this really wise crap, like, today – he was like, “pain is all in your head and if you show it then the other guys gonna be on you like a fly to shit.” Or something, I don’t know but – I don’t know, he’s just smart. He’s been there.” 

“Well, yeah, isn’t he like a hundred years older than us?” Armin asks, leaning up on his elbow to look at me. 

I’m at Levi’s defence like a shark to blood. “No, he’s definitely not a hundred and eighteen. I’d say he’s thirty, at a push. And anyway he looks about twenty, so.”  
  
Armin rolls off the bed and mumbles something about going to the toilet, and I laugh as the goof trips over my bag. 

It’s at this moment, when I have absolutely nothing else to distract me, that I get a positively brilliant idea and I spend a solid minute trying to fish my phone out of my bag with unsteady hands. Levi had given me his number the first time I met him (for emergencies only, he’d told me, such as me not being able to attend training because I’ve been hit by a bus or I’ve caught the bubonic plague.) 

My fingers are slow and I have to concentrate pretty hard to make sure I’m typing actual, coherent words. 

_**June 24th // 11:26pm to: levi** _  
_**should I tell jean you’re trainign me** _

_**June 24th // 11:27pm from: levi** _  
_**Why are you texting me?** _

_**June 24th // 11:28pm to: levi** _  
_**I just thikn it would be funny** _

_**June 24th // 11:30pm from: levi** _  
_**Have you been drinking or are you usually this illiterate?** _

_**June 24th // 11:32pm to: levi** _  
_**yes** _

_**June 24th // 11:33pm from: levi** _  
_**Don’t think I’ll go easy on you tomorrow just because you’re hungover.** _

_**June 24th // 11:35pm to: levi** _  
_**id never want you to go easy** _

_**June 24th // 11:36pm from: levi** _  
_**Was that you trying to flirt with me?** _

_**June 24th // 11:37pm to: levi** _  
_**nah** _

_**June 24th // 11:38pm to: levi** _  
_**possibly** _  
_**will erwin kill me** _

_**June 24th // 11:40pm from: levi** _  
_**Contrary to popular opinion, Erwin’s not my keeper.** _

This last text leaves a funny taste in my mouth, and I'm not sure if its the ambiguity of it or the stale aftertaste of alcohol. Possibly both. I’m snoring on Armin’s bed by the time he finally comes back from the toilet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise to update this as often as i possibly can. im quite hung up on this fic.


End file.
